


The Plan, or Percival Graves Gets His House In Order

by fantastik_obskurials



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Discussion of Mental Health, Gen, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Percival Graves recovering, and lists, and really likes plants, and swearing, just FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 10:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14400093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastik_obskurials/pseuds/fantastik_obskurials
Summary: The rumour of the day was that Director Graves had finally lost it. Graves himself was quite well aware of this rumour, and as he wasn’t entirely certain they were wrong he had decided to carry on regardless. The Plan had been bubbling away for weeks and it was time for some action now that he had been officially reinstated. There were three simple phases to The Plan, with various steps and subsections to each, tirelessly crafted and revised by Graves himself, usually during the sleepless small hours of the morning. In the end it boiled down to this:1. Fix Your Fucking Head Graves2. Fix MACUSA3. Get That Fucking Bastard





	The Plan, or Percival Graves Gets His House In Order

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been beta'd or particularly well drafted so please forgive mistakes!

The rumour of the day was that Director Graves had finally lost it. Graves himself was quite well aware of this rumour, and as he wasn’t entirely certain they were wrong he had decided to carry on regardless. The Plan had been bubbling away for weeks and it was time for some action now that he had been officially reinstated. There were three simple phases to The Plan, with various steps and subsections to each, tirelessly crafted and revised by Graves himself, usually during the sleepless small hours of the morning. In the end it boiled down to this:

1\. Fix Your Fucking Head Graves

2\. Fix MACUSA

3\. Get That Fucking Bastard

The Plan, and indeed the beginning of Step One, was actually the result of Seraphina’s pushing. She had insisted he see a mind-healer before he could be declared fit to return to work. He had protested, as loudly and virulently as any man who was a shadow of his former self could, but she had got that disappointed frown that said she was not budging in the slightest. Graves went through four of them in seven weeks - the last one had actually torn a chunk of his hair clean out and declared Graves ‘unworkable’, which he was actually quite proud of. 

The fifth, however, had somehow managed to win Graves’ grudging respect. It may have been because she reminded him of a younger Seraphina (admittedly, with slightly less refinement), but it was also likely that it was how she responded to his complaints about time wasting by calling him a “short-sighted pissbaby”.

“We all know you’re going to go after him. Can you honestly tell me you’ll be successful in this state?” Graves was uncomfortably aware of the dark bruises under his eyes, the need to keep his left hand in his pocket to hide periodic shaking, and the fact that tailoring charms could only conceal so much.

“And you can fix me?” 

“No. You can.”

He had snorted, couldn’t hide the bitterness when he replied, “I very much doubt that.”

She smirked back at him, but her eyes were soft. “And therein lies the problem.” There was nothing he could say to that.

After a few moments of silently weighing the other’s intentions, she had surprised him again.

“What makes you happy Mr Graves?”

“Happy?”

She huffed a laugh at his offended bewilderment.

“Well, content then. Not all day, every day - are there moments in your day where you are content?”

He stared at her.

“Find your joy, find your peace, Mr Graves, and you’ll find your strength.”

***

He sent a note two days later.

_I fucking hate that clinic. Meet me at the cafe at the corner of 2 nd and Johnson next Tuesday at 11 and I’ll work with you._

_P.G._

The response was delivered by a cheerfully fluffy one-legged pigeon. He really hoped it wasn’t some kind of metaphor.

_Fair enough. I’m rather partial to good coffee and cherry danishes. You’re paying._

_P.S. I assume your silencing charms are up to scratch Director?_

_Dr. Élonie Chambers_

Six weeks of compassionate antagonism later, he was cleared to begin a gradual return to work on the condition that he continue the sessions with the mind-healer. It was worth it to see the confusion on Seraphina’s face when he simply nodded and asked if the department had a pastry budget.

***

His office was too fucking small. He probably should have measured before buying all these plants, but re-decorating was the next step in The Plan and he had decided to start small with the office, as he wasn’t altogether sure that tackling the house wouldn’t end in him simply burning it. In a fit of nostalgia for Graves Manor and rolling countryside he had gone out and purchased half of a shop rather sickeningly called _The Faerie Garden_. 

He had already owled Élonie with a note saying, _I think I’ve bought too many fucking plants_ , to which her helpful response had been, _There’s no such thing Graves. Besides, you can afford it_.

He had tried rearranging everything in the room several times, having thrown out everything obviously tainted by Grindelfuck’s use, along with several strange and intimidating items he really had no use for beyond being a pretentious prick. Adding in a new desk, sofa, chairs and bookshelves left only one corner for his plants, and it wasn’t enough. There was the possibility of shrinking them, but they were really quite lovely and it would be a shame. Only one thing for it then.

“Goldstein!” he barked out from the office door, startling one poor Junior Auror into stabbing their pen right through their report. He silently repaired it for them.

The woman in question hopped up from her (newly reinstated) desk and hurried toward him, a bit flustered but not obviously frightened, which was progress. He ushered her into the office and gestured to his office, which was starting to look vaguely like a herbology classroom.

“Sir?” 

The rumour of his mental break had obviously reached her ears too and it probably wasn’t looking unconvincing at the moment. 

“I need some help re-decorating.” He sighed. “And I probably bought too many plants.”

For some reason, this explanation seemed to relax her. Maybe she too was fond of plants.

“Um…well, I think you either get rid of some, or you create some more space. Sir.”

He nodded. After a few minutes of silent deliberating, he found he wasn’t keen on parting with any of them.

“Create more space, you said?”

She nodded, slightly over-enthusiastically before steadying herself. “An extension charm perhaps?”

Fuck. He knew she was going to say that. Right, humility Graves.

“I’m awful at them.” It was the one thing he could never get right; they always collapsed in on themselves after a few hours.

Goldstein’s world didn’t seem to have fallen through at the confession, however.

“Ah. Well, it just so happens that I know someone who is really quite good at them.”

A couple of hours later he was wondering if it would be inappropriate to hug Newt Scamander. It was probably justifiable, considering the man’s help with the Grindelwald fiasco, but likely wouldn’t convince anyone he was not in fact losing his mind. Better not then.

Besides, the man himself was now chittering along excitedly with his bowtruckle - a bowtruckle, in Graves’ office! Maybe he had lost it - who was apparently a huge fan of his Lullaby Tree. She was rather magnificent, so he could hardly blame the little thing.

“Oh, I haven’t seen one of these since I was a child! It’s a bit of a misnomer being called a ‘lullaby’ tree when in reality it’s the beautiful scent they give off when-“

“Newt,” Goldstein interrupted. Scamander didn’t seem bothered; perhaps he was used to it. He and his bowtruckle gave the same head tilt.

“Hmm?”

“Perhaps we should let Mr Graves get on.”

“Oh, yes, terribly sorry - that should certainly do it for you, but if you need it changed or extended of course don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

Scamander wasn’t looking at him, but his mouth was turned up in a half-smile. The old Graves might have found him irritating, just as he might not have called Goldstein in to help. ‘New’ Graves found himself grinning, and thinking that perhaps tackling his house might not be such an arduous task after all.

“Actually,” he said. “Do you happen to know anything about roof gardens?”

***

As it turned out, Scamander was something of a genius with extension charms, and not bad at all with plants, in spite of his speciality in creatures. Having watched him and Goldstein bicker and giggle as they worked, it seemed almost unbelievable that these two helped bring down Grindelwald. But the fact was, they had, along with Goldstein Jr and her headache of a no-maj baker (who Graves was pardoning come hell or high water - the man was a culinary maestro; Élonie was delighted). Graves hadn’t forgotten the third step in his Plan. These people were useful. He just hadn’t expected to _like_ them.

***

Weeks of guilty and suspicious faces and an atmosphere so tense it made his stomach churn were making Graves think that Step Two of the Plan might be the hardest. Fixing MACUSA as a whole was going to take longer, so he started to focus on his own aurors. He could crack down, whip them into shape and accept no excuses for slacking, make sure the department was a well-oiled machine. The fact was, it pretty much already had been so. Efficiency wasn’t the issue. Goddamnit, he was going to have to talk about it.

Graves had never really considered the advantages of having ‘friends’, though they were becoming quite apparent now as Scamander expanded his office to fit every auror in the department while Auror Goldstein ran off to make sure everyone attended. Her sister was floating in enough coffee for an army and trays of highly illegal pastries that smelled like heaven. He grabbed one for himself and bagged another to take to Élonie later (he really needed to speak to Seraphina about that pastry budget).

When the room was full of bemused but happily munching aurors, he stood up to speak.

“Thank you for coming everyone. Now, as you are all painfully aware, the department has been under a lot of pressure to bounce back after everything that happened. Things are going to get hard if we are to prevent a war, if we are to repair and strengthen MACUSA after Grindelwald’s machinations. I am not unaware of the difficulties many of you have had with my return as Director, and before things get any worse, I decided to call this meeting so that we can discuss these issues - openly and without fear of reproach. I want to build a strong team, and to do that I need everyone operating at their best. Recently I have been made intimately aware of how true strength grows from care not from fear. So we’re going to talk and we’re going to brainstorm ways of making your lives as aurors better, so that we can make MACUSA better.”

He tried not to look over at where the Goldsteins, Scamander and his goddamn bowtruckle were looking at him with proud smiles. Maybe he should send another note to Élonie, something along the lines of ‘Please don’t become a dark lord, you’d win.’

In the end the meeting lasted for four more hours, with two more rounds of coffee and a run for sandwiches in the middle. Only three people requested to be reassigned to another department, with one resigning entirely, but though it was draining and difficult, progress had been made. A smaller, auror-specific Plan had been drawn up from the discussion:

1\. New training and mentorship program to replace ‘boring’ seminars (thank you Reilly)

2\. Bi-weekly case brainstorming sessions to include junior aurors

3\. Weekly office hours for the Director with open-door policy

4\. Daily coffee and cake breaks (including the Director!) - this suggested by a couple of European transfers who were convinced it affected morale

***

“You were great honey!”

Goddamn Queenie Goldstein. Graves’ do not blush. 

“It’s Director in the office, Miss Goldstein.”

“You betcha!”

He sighed. “Thanks Queenie.”

She winked as she passed her sister and left. Tina seemed torn between excitement and stress at everything they had to do.

“Goldstein - Tina!” Her attention snapped back to him. “Breathe.”

Scamander was smiling in that odd way of his.

“How is your house coming along Mr Graves?”

“Rather well, thank you Mr Scamander. Tabitha has settled in nicely.” Tabitha being a gorgeous specimen of a venomous tentacula that Scamander just so happened to be carrying around. She had taken to guarding Graves’ hallway with enthusiasm.

“Perhaps you both might come round for a visit sometime. I’m sure she’d love to see you again.” They were nodding like a couple of pups. “Maybe you might even do me the honour of showing me this case I’ve heard so much about?”

Discomfort crossed their faces, which they both tried to hide (badly). Goldstein was going to have to get training in a poker face. Graves sighed and reached in his pocket for a card.

“Perhaps another time then. But please take this.”

Scamander read aloud: “Dr Élonie Chambers, Therapeutic Mind-Healing Services - Mr Graves-“ 

“That someone in a certain case I’m not supposed to know about - I think it would help.”

“How do you-?!” Tina was definitely getting that training.

“You stopped crying every time he was mentioned two weeks ago. And I’m the Head of MLE, which they didn’t give me for my pretty face. Well, not only.”

“Sir, please-“

He raised a hand.

“Hush. I’ll be here when the time is right. Just something to consider.”

Scamander met his gaze. “Indeed. We’ll be in touch Mr Graves.”

“Fuck it, call me Percival, the both of you.”

  



End file.
